Muffet's Italian Diner
by oliver.j.hoare
Summary: US!/Underswap Muffet's Italian Diner, a cosy monster-run restaurant. Here Sans and Papyrus hang out, work and occasionally get into mishaps. Any criticism is appreciated as this is my first fic!
1. The Diner

Muffet's Italian Diner. A small, wedged-in family restaurant, chill, cosy and local. It had been taken over by Muffet after the early retirement of the previous owner induced by severe arachnophobia. The neon sign that hangs off the dark fabric reads,

Muffet's Italian Diner

Come for the pasta,

Stay forever

Although a joke at heart, she does have a way of convincing unsuspecting customers that her cosy, hushed establishment with admittedly second-rate appearances is worth spending a lot more time and money in than one might think. Only here, however, could you find the best Italian cuisine to be had this side of Mt. Ebott. The mere existence of this place is only known to a few locals, the best kept secret in the town since word had gotten out about the monsters themselves. If it weren't for the unassuming nature that hung around the diner, it probably would've been subject to graffiti attacks and other anti-monster propaganda. Fortunately it was always in relatively good shape and kept up business just enough for Muffet and her staff to live comfortably.

It was mid-afternoon, and the clinking of cutlery and the murmur of conversation spread out onto the street, where stacks upon stacks of doughnuts and croissants behind the windows were hungrily eyed by passing tourists. Muffet herself occasionally caught a poor young fellow out, her lip licking and hypnotising habit of constantly skating about, whirling and wheeling whilst waiting the entire restaurant making him dizzy.

Wheeling back up the ramp and attaching the final order to the shiny steel hood, she took in her hectic kitchen, with tiles that shone too brightly white and blackened, heavy pots on stovetops, countless numbers of yellow sticky notes of orders from her pad lining sleek rails on the cookers. Lazily wheeling back to the counter, she smiled at her choice of decor. It was no air-conditioned limousine, but the smooth brown of the dining area, complete with small but plentiful crystal wall lamps, black leather couches with enough padding you could sink into them and low faux mahogany coffee tables were her favourite thing about the restaurant after the spaghetti. The downbeat atmosphere created by the slow and light jazz music over the top of the muted conversation provided the customers with the sleepy feeling where they were happy just to eat, chill, rest and not really care about how much they were charged, a feeling she was happy to exploit.

It was the Head Chef himself who was the main inspiration for the atmosphere in the restaurant, and as such provided a contrast with the clamour of his kitchen. However, no matter how much suffering the other kitchen staff had to endure due to his constant carefree attitude and his refusal to never use any measurements, it was nevertheless true he was the most unparalled spaghettore in the whole of the country. He was such a good chef that the spaghetti there was called "Papyrus'", after so many customers wanted it cooked by him especially that it slowly became part of the menu itself.

If Papyrus' nature was that of the dining area, then his partner Sans was probably best suited to the hectic nature of the kitchen. It was a shame that they never spent time much in those respective areas, unless it was to talk to one another. The duo could stand for hours arguing or chatting about everything from puzzles to pasta, Asgore forbid anyone trying to shut them up. They were yin and yang, rarely separable for any extended amount of time. However, Sans didn't speak much about their friendship, preferring to excuse himself to the diner by saying he was looking for his crew, who 'were really stretching their luck with their breaks'.

Sans realised, upon arriving, that his crew were nowhere to be seen in the restaurant, and they were probably skiving off somewhere else instead. He sighed, but didn't let his smile escape him.

"Who knows," he thought, 'maybe I can try out Papyrus'! All the guys say it's to die for!'

With that thought, he skipped out eagerly towards the counter, where Muffet was waiting, bored and unfocused.

'Hey Muffet! How are ya?' Sans beamed at her.

Muffet started, caught off-guard having been teaching her spiders a ragtime. She smirked a saccharine smile as the spider slipped back into the pastries.

"If you're looking for Papyrus, he's cooking up a storm in the kitchen. There's vegetables and pasta practically raining from the ceiling in there, so I wouldn't disturb him.'

'That's fine, in fact! What I'd really like is some of whatever Pap is so engrossed in. Could you show me a table?'

Sans sank back into the green couch Papyrus had brought all the way from their old house. Papyrus had been becoming so quickly acquainted with the human cooking one would think he had some carnal relationship with pasta, and so the restaurant had become his home away from Home. Sans tried hard not to like the sofa, what with him being obsessive about his cleanliness, but he had always felt a certain affinity for the beat-up thing.

Muffet suddenly materialised next to him, a plate of steaming spaghetti in one hand, a coffee pot in another, a mug in the third, grated cheese on a different hand and laid down a napkin and cutlery with the last two.

Sans beamed at her and the plate set out before him.

'Compliments from Papyrus,' Muffet smirked, 'BONE appetite.'

Sans responded by smiling wider, even though he felt he was slowly dying inside.

The heaped plate invited him. Steam slowly curled up off the noodles, tickling Sans under the chin. The spaghetti practically flowed with flavour, unlike and monster food could ever have done. It's always exiting to try something new, he reckoned, and plunged into the pasta.

 **Authors Note:**

 **So, my first fic! I'll be continuing this promptly (at least hopefully), so look forward to that! If you thought of anything you'd like to say about this, then leave a review, it helps a ton when you're new to this place and unsure of your writing in general.**

 **Thanks and bye!**


	2. It's To Die For

His senses overwhelmed him. The silken spaghetti poured into Sans' mouth, tastes and textures unfurling like vibrant flowers. It had strongly improved from Papyruses previous 'pure bland' on a plate to a dish so wonderful and yet so nostalgic it reminded Sans of everything he had held dear in the Underworld. Muffet leaned over the counter to be greeted with the sight of Sans happily shovelling food into his face. No matter how polite or self-reserved people were, Papyrus' usually had that effect on people. Sometimes the diner could become chaotic with orderings and re-orderings that the kitchen would be swamped with pasta. The only calm person in the place (occasionally infuriatingly) was the chef himself. Though recently business was slow, and he was taking a nap. This changed rapidly when Muffet casually informed him that Sans had walked in to order his signature dish. He rose up gracefully off the counter, smashing everything on it, and sauntered to the cooker. Although on the outside he looked calm and ready, he could hardly contain his excitement. Sans!? Asking for **_his_** pasta? He could scarcely believe it. Ingredients had been set out in advance due to the constant orders, and he was ready to get to work.

'A little bit o' this, and of that' he muttered to himself as he sprinkled his special ingredients in; Salt, basil, oregano and... torn up construction paper?

Slopping the bolognaise onto the dish, he called Muffet. He decided to go out into the diner as well, carefully choosing a seat which had a prime view of Sans. He sunk into the sofa, instantly relaxing. Papyrus watched Sans contentedly and sleepily, as Sans devoured the meal eagerly. The huge smile on his face made Papyrus' heart burst with joy. After a while, fatigue started enveloping him, and he lay down happily, cushioned by copious amounts of foam. Soon his eyes were drooping and-

He woke up to screaming. Chaos ran rampant through the diner, a cacophony of smashed plates and thumping boxing in his ears. Papyrus' eye flashed orange, and he bolted upright. The cosy atmosphere had been replaced with pure panic. As people all around him lost their heads, Papyrus' mind was on only one thing. Sans. He took off and pelted down the stairs, pushing aside the terrified civilians in search of his partner. He vaulted over upturned tables to his favorite green sofa, on which Sans lay, dripping with red.

'Sweet Toriel!' he cried, 'What happened!?'

Sans jolted out of unconsciousness.

'Wha-' he started, 'What _did_ happen?'

He looked down to see his battle suit stained. He at once cried melodramatically,

'Oh, woe is me! Alas poor Sans! I knew I was too good for this world.'

Papyrus was simultaneously smiling and weeping. It was heart-wrenching, but it had to be done. With on deft movements, he tore into Sans' costume, turning it to aqua shreds.

'Pap!' Cried Sans, 'Stop!'

'I'm sorry, but I have to!'

'No, no! It was just the spaghetti!'

'...what?' Papyrus gaped.

He looked inside Sans' suit to reveal red tomato juice and fleshy chunks of meatball covering his ribcage. He stopped dead.

'Oh my Tori, Sans.'

Sans sat up suddenly, shocked.

'Surely the great Sans was not so easily defeated?' he exlaimed.

Papyrus turned to him, slackjawed.

'You really have...

made a MEAL out of this'

'PAYRUS, I COULD HAVE BEEN DYING AND YOU ARE STILL MAKING THOSE INFERNAL PUNS!' Sans shouted playfully.

'I _am_ glad to see you alive. I almost thought you'd PASTA way!'

Sans threw back his head and laughed, slowly sinking into the sofa amidst the empty Diner.

 **A/N: I hope you like the way this little two-shot turned out! I found the dialogue a real pain to write, so no hard feelings if you found that or the pacing unnatural. See ya soon!**


End file.
